


This Is It

by musiclvr1112



Series: Petals in the Rain Universe [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU, Akuma, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Chlonath Week, Enemies, Explicit Language, F/M, Family, First Fight, Nightmare, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Were-Creatures, artist, chlonathweek2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-05-13 03:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19242466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclvr1112/pseuds/musiclvr1112
Summary: From the universe of Petals In The Rain.When Nathaniel catches sight of his signature on the inside of Chloé's wrist, the mystery surrounding his fate thickens. He finds himself on a mission to decipher just who his soulmate is, and whether or not his life would be at risk were he to tell her the truth.





	1. Enemies

**Author's Note:**

> While this is from the universe of Petals In The Rain, it is written such that you do not have to read Petals In The Rain to understand it; it's really its own portion of the story. (Also Petals In The Rain only had one chapter and hardly explained much of the universe anyway so really don't worry, just read what you wanna read, sit back, and enjoy the ride <3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did I live in a kingdom of thieves and people who say things they don't really mean? - Utada Hikaru, Don't Think Twice.

It wasn’t the first time Nathaniel’s life had completely changed in a moment. Not the first time that his entire world had turned on its head. Not the first time a single simple event had thrown him into chaos.

Not the first time he had thought _this is it._

But it would be the last.

“Nice one, Kurtzberg,” her disgusted voice spat as they both knelt down to pick up dropped supplies and scattered papers.

Nathaniel said nothing, just kept his eyes down and collected the various paint brushes attempting to flee. He had long abandoned any habits of biting back when it came to Chloé Bourgeois; long abandoned any hopes of changing their status as enemies.

Scenes like this were the bulk of their interactions now; scenes where they bump into each other—usually metaphorically, but literally today—Chloé says something rude, Nathaniel says nothing, and they go on with their lives. It was far from ideal, but it was a vast improvement from the bullying that characterized their relationship back in the beginning; the bullying that had steadily subsided over the years until it only emerged in snide comments provoked by outside force.

Nathaniel reached forward to catch a brush rolling dangerously close to her hand…

...and audibly gasped.

Chloé’s head snapped up, eyes immediately finding his. But his eyes were locked, frozen in time, unable to tear themselves away from the skin of her wrist revealed by the riding up of her sleeve.

The skin that bore the small, unmistakable tattoo of a particularly stylized exclamation point.

A blink and it was gone. Chloé bolted to her feet, tugging her sleeve down to her palm. He was quick to follow, abandoning supplies on the ground and still ever focused on the now-hidden wrist.

“I-Is that--?”

“No.”

He only looked up—only observed that cold, avoidant stare as it sought anything but him—for a second before she hurried past, purposely shoving him aside with the bump of her shoulder.

He moved with the hit, turning to watch as she strutted away. All mental processes in his brain were cast in ice. Only three words echoed off the walls of his skull.

_This is it._


	2. Akuma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really don't get what everyone else believes, so why do I say things I don't really mean? - Utada Hikaru, Don't Think Twice

_**NL:** Akuma rally in the park. Take the long way home._

_**NK:** Thanks for the heads up _

Nathaniel sighed and slipped the cell phone back into his pocket. He hated taking the long way home. Especially on rainy days like this.

With the rain coming down as it was, he would be lucky if he made it home even mildly dry. Especially since more rifling through his locker told him he had forgotten his umbrella. He grabbed the extra jacket he kept at school and started wrapping his sketchbook for protection.

The sudden slamming of metal on metal had him jumping out of his skin and dropping the sketchbook to the floor. An outstretched hand complete with perfectly manicured nails held the locker door shut before him.

“What the fuck is this?” Chloé spat, voice dripping with venom. She waved her other hand, where she held a piece of paper pinched between forefinger and thumb, casting creases across the (very meticulously detailed) drawing it bore.

Nathaniel tried to keep his expression in the wide-eyed surprise it had automatically assumed upon her raucous arrival. “A piece of paper?”

Those icy eyes narrowed and her jaw moved in a way that told him he may be in immediate physical danger if he didn’t cooperate. “A piece of paper with a drawing on it?” he added, feigning innocence.

She shook the drawing in the air between them, eliciting the wavering cry of the paper as she cemented more creases in place. “Why did you put it in my locker!?”

“What makes you think it’s from me?”

Chloé pointed to the bottom right corner of the drawing, stabbing her index finger to the particularly stylized exclamation point that sat there. “Because it has your stupid little—!”

She stopped herself mid-statement, her tirade slamming to a halt as she caught his stare. A second too late, he realized why; in his endeavor to assess her reaction, he had accidentally dropped his act.

Her lips pressed together in cold fury as she realized what he was doing. A second later he was stumbling back a step, his own work slammed into his chest under her open palm before she turned and stomped away.

“Chloé, wait!” She ignored him. “Chloé!” Nathaniel ran after her, clutching the drawing in his fist. “Do the flowers mean anything to you!?”

At that, she stopped, ponytail whipping behind her head as she spun toward him. _“What?”_ she asked exasperatedly, fixing him with an almost offended-appearing bewilderment.

“The flowers.” He skidded to a halt in front of her, chest heaving over his racing heart. He held up the now-crumpled paper, indicating to the detailed sketch depicting a particular stem of cherry blossoms. “Do they mean anything to you?”

“No they don’t mean anything,” she spat. “They’re clearly the flowers from Marinette’s severely outdated design.”

Nathaniel’s stomach sank, the exact confirmation he didn’t want settling in. Chloé watched him, waiting for an explanation that didn’t come.

After a few seconds, she seemed to realize she wouldn’t get one and with an irritated noise of disgust, walked away. He didn’t follow this time.


	3. First Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're only everything I ever dreamed of. - Utada Hikaru, Don't Think Twice.

“And you’re absolutely certain it was your signature?”

“I’m positive,” Nathaniel replied. “I would think I drew it on her skin myself if I didn’t know any better.”

“Wow.” Marinette sat back and crossed her arms over her chest as she seemed to consider that. Her eyes idly followed the various drops of rain dancing across the window next to her. “That’s…about as clear as a soulmate tattoo gets.”

He groaned and leaned forward on the table, hiding his face in his palms. “I just don’t understand how the flowers fit into all this! Even she recognized them as your design. If anything seems like a clear tattoo, it’s _that,_ but…”

“But…” Her eyes found his again with a tiny pitiful smile, “...been there done that.”

Nathaniel let out a half laugh and shook his head. “We’re not soulmates. Two years of dating and feeling content never kissing each other was enough to tell us that.”

Marinette picked up her coffee cup, hiding a giggle behind it. “Remember when we tried?”

He could feel a grin curling the corner of his lips. “Even the time Alix kissed me on a dare was better than that.”

Marinette groaned, smacking her mug down on the table as she leaned forward. _“God,_ it was _so bad._ I didn’t know it was possible for a kiss to be that…that _boring!_ I didn’t feel _anything.”_

“Literally nothing,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“And I remember being so scared to open my eyes because then I would have to tell you, but _you—,”_ his body shook with laughter at the memory, “—you just suddenly burst out _laughing!”_

“You didn’t see the face you were making!” he defended. “Seeing that face was the biggest relief of my life.”

She sat back again, giggling and shaking her head. A moment passed as their laughter settled, the pattering of rain offering background music to their calm sips of coffee.

“So how is—,” he opened his mouth, the name on his tongue, and paused as he heard the bell ring from the door opening behind him. “—Chat Noir?”

Marinette cast a cautious glance at the customer but otherwise carried on as normal. “He’s good. He gets a bit antsy, always cooped up in the house, but he’s good.”

“You know, you could just put him on a leash and take him for a— _ow!”_ The look she fixed him matched her kick under the table. “Kidding!” he laughed. “But really though, why not take him outside? People take cats for walks.”

“I know…” She paused to take a drink, warily eyeing the customer’s back over the brim of her mug. As she set it down, she leaned forward again and lowered her voice. “The rallies are just getting more and more frequent…and more violent. They’re starting to attack normal house pets.” Her gaze fell to the ripples on the surface of her drink. “I don’t want to risk it…”

He supposed that was fair enough. He was avoiding the rallies too, and his face wasn’t even recognizable. Still, he couldn’t imagine a life so confined. Living this far inland was restricting enough, and Nathaniel had the entirety of Paris to wander. How Adrien had been keeping his sanity trapped up in the apartment above the boulangerie for so long was beyond him.

Marinette’s brows knit together as she seemed to consider something. “Chloé…” she looked up with another glance at the customer across the room. “She doesn’t know about your hydrophobia, does she?”

He shook his head. “No, she doesn’t. She hardly knows anything about me. Or I her.”

He watched as Marinette’s eyes followed the person’s path across the room until the bell chimed behind him once again. She waited until the door was completely shut to continue.

“Mayor Bourgeois isn’t exactly the most progressive,” she warned, speaking more freely now that the only other people in the boulangerie were her parents.

Nathaniel sighed. “I know.” He leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair. “I still don’t even know if it’s her though. The flowers just don’t line up.”

The distant rumble of thunder and continued pattering of rain filled the empty air around them as they both sat with their own thoughts. He still remembered the absolute certainty with which he had called Marinette his soulmate. The same certainty she had returned. From the flowers on his shoulder that she designed to the cat on her ankle that they found together, their destiny seemed clear as day.

Of course, now he knew who the cat on her ankle really was.

“What about Adrien’s?” he asked. “It’s a ladybug, right?” She nodded. “How did that work?”

A warm smile washed over her features as her gaze was lost to a memory. “It was back in the first few months he was here—back when I still thought he was no more than that stray cat we brought in. He says there was one day where I was working on a design and a ladybug flew into the room. Apparently I was so focused on what I was doing that I didn’t even notice when it came and landed on my nose.” Her gaze absolutely melted, as if she could see his face in the surface of her coffee. “He says he was already falling in love with me before then, but that was when he knew. He had seen ladybugs before and had suspected soulmates in the past, but that… _Me…_ I was a certainty.”

Seeing that look in her eyes made Nathaniel smile. If ever he needed further confirmation that she wasn’t his soulmate, it was right there in that warm gaze.

Then her eyebrows pinched together again. “Nathaniel.”

“Hm?” he asked as he drank the last of his coffee.

“Tell me the story of the moment you thought I was your soulmate again.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

He frowned in confusion, but she looked up at him again and he could practically see the cogs turning in her head. He might have no idea where she was leading with this, but he certainly knew not to doubt that look.

“It was the first day of lycée,” he began, “the first class we ever had together. I had been sitting in the back of the class, drawing like usual, when I heard an argument at the front of the room.” He could still recall the exact bumblebee he had been sketching that day. The scent of lemon tea in his thermos next to him. The taste of the honey and biscuits he had eaten that morning. “I looked up, and there you were—,” deep blue eyes narrowed with the ferocity of a warrior, only a hint of the fire in her soul as she faced off her enemy, “—wearing that shirt with your own floral design on it.” Exactly three pink flowers set upon a vine of twelve leaves. “The same exact branch of cherry blossoms tattooed on my shoulder. Down to each and every petal.”

Marinette nodded. “And then what? What did you do?”

“Well, I walked up to the front of the class and…” Nathaniel trailed off, realization sinking in.

“And?” she prompted, a tiny smile at the corner of her lips.

“And I defended you…” from eyes of ice and hair of gold and the will of a raging storm, “…because Chloé was picking on your design.”

Marinette waited a moment, letting the revelation ease in.

“Had you ever spoken to her before then?” she finally asked.

He slowly shook his head. “No. That was how I met her.”


	4. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you want to make it happen, nothing's impossible. All you gotta do is say the word; the walls will crumble. - Utada Hikaru, Don't Think Twice.

**_NL:_ ** _Dude are you ok? I heard you screaming_

**_NK:_ ** _Sorry did I wake you up?_

**_NL:_ ** _Yeah but thats whatever, what happened?_

**_NK:_ ** _I had a nightmare where I got caught in a fishing net and it turned out to be Chloé’s and she cooked me alive and served me with red wine._

**_NL:_ ** _What? Thats weird_

**_NL:_ ** _Youd go way better with white wine_

**_NK:_ ** _You’re not helping._

**_NL:_ ** _Dude shes not gonna do that_

**_NK:_ ** _You don’t know that_

**_NL:_ ** _I do know that. Chloe? Get anywhere near a fishing net? Let alone cook her own food?_

**_NK:_ ** _-_-_

**_NL:_ ** _Ok ok joking aside what exactly are you worried about?_

**_NK:_ ** _That she’ll report me to the hunters? That she’ll yell “he’s a were!” and shove me into the middle of an akuma rally?_

**_NL:_ ** _She won’t._

**_NK:_ ** _How can you know that though_

**_NL:_ ** _Because shes your soulmate dude_

**_NK:_ ** _:/_

**_NL:_ ** _Look i know what youre going through. I knew Alya was my soulmate from the moment i met her but i waited years to tell her because i didnt know how shed react to the tail. When she found out it was an accident but i turned out to be completely safe_

**_NL:_ ** _If shes meant to love you you have nothing to be afraid of_

**_NK:_ ** _That’s different though. Alya’s never been quiet about her support for weres_

**_NK:_ ** _Plus she’s a kitsune._

**_NL:_ ** _Yeah but i didnt know that until she found out about me. Who knows maybe Chloes a were too_

**_NK:_ ** _With her father’s politics? Yeah right_

**_NL:_ ** _Maybe its just her moms side. Maybe thats why her parents split_

**_NK:_ ** _I highly doubt it_

**_NL:_ ** _Yeah me too but you never know until you ask_

**_NK:_ ** _Oh yeah because that’s a good idea_

**_NK:_ ** _Hey Chloé, just curious, are you actually human? Or do you belong to a group of beings hunted by the general public? Don’t worry, it’s totally safe to tell me, your soulmate who you don’t fucking know at all_

**_NL:_ ** _I mean you gotta open the conversation somehow_

**_NK:_ ** _:I_

**_NL:_ ** _Dude you gotta talk to her._

**_NL:_ ** _Even if you don’t tell her about the tail just yet._

**_NL:_ ** _Whether you like it or not, she’s your soulmate. You need to AT LEAST talk to her about that._

**_NK:_ ** _Damn it I hate it when you use actual punctuation._

**_NL:_ ** _;_

Nathaniel sighed and dropped his phone on the pillow next to him. Nino was right. He hated it when Nino was right. If Nino was being the sensible one, it meant Nathaniel really needed to get his shit together.

He groaned and rubbed his face. He knew he needed to talk to Chloé. _Of course_ he needed to talk to Chloé. And yes, Nino was probably right and she was probably safe. If she was meant to love him, to be with him, to stay with him for the rest of their lives, then...yeah, one would expect that she would be okay with weres.

But he still couldn’t shake that fear. Of what could happen. Of what might be.

Of the possibility of his own soulmate hating him.

His cell phone buzzed again.

**_NL:_ ** _Dude I can hear you overthinking from here. Just talk to her._

**_NK:_ ** _I hate you sometimes._

**_NL:_ ** _ <3_


	5. Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm only crying 'cause I never dreamed it'd take this long. - Utada Hikaru, Don't Think Twice

“No, Chloé. Since Sabrina will be out of town for the rest of the week, you’ll have to pick a different partner for the art project.”

When he was six years old, Nathaniel’s mother had told him that life was about opportunities. Every moment was an opportunity, from the greatest of life’s changes to the smallest of life’s details. Every moment was a choice—a choice of stay or go, a choice of start or stop, a choice of do or don’t. Every choice had its consequences and it was on those consequences that human lives were decided. On those consequences that opportunities were taken.

And it was a simple fact of life, she had told him, that the consequences unknown, the opportunities left untaken, were the ones he would dwell on the most.

Perhaps it was the thought that he was sick of dwelling that brought Nathaniel to take the opportunity presented before him. That brought Nathaniel to raise his hand.

“I’ll do it.”

A general level of friendly chatter had sprouted in the class as students had begun discussing project plans, but conversation eased to halt then. He knew every set of eyes in the room was on him. His eyes were only focused on one.

“No,” she immediately said. She addressed the teacher, but those cold eyes never left him. “Madame Bustier, I’d prefer to do the project on my own.”

He tried not to let his fear show. He tried not to run from that soul-shaking gaze.

“Chloé, that would leave Nathaniel without a partner too. Plus, working with the class artist will be beneficial to your art grade.” In his peripheral, he saw Madame Bustier wave him forward. “Thank you for volunteering, Nathaniel. You can come sit next to Chloé for the rest of class.”

The twitch of her jaw. A look like murder. Then eye contact was broken and in just that split second before she turned to face forward again, Nathaniel swore he saw something more. Something painful.

If he did, it was hidden again by the time he was sitting down next to her. The rest of the class went on with their discussions, though he didn’t miss the glances of Marinette and Nino as they not-so-subtly spectated.

“What the fuck are you doing, Kurtzberg?” Chloé immediately snapped. “What do you want?”

“What’s the matter, Chloé?” he asked absently as he opened his sketch book to a new page. “I thought you’d be happy to have a partner who can do all the work for you.”

 _Wait. Shit._ The words had slipped out almost as if reflex—fighting fire with fire. Except in this case, it was more like fighting a candle with a flamethrower.

Her jaw fell slightly ajar and her brows pinched together in fury. Her eyes though; swimming in her eyes was a splash of genuine hurt.

Chloé pressed her lips together and looked away without another word. She began gathering her supplies and throwing them in her purse. Guilt was an immediate led weight in his stomach and he knew that in his head, he would be kicking himself for many years to come for being rude to his fucking soulmate. Especially when he was actively trying to get closer to her.

“Wait, Chloé, I’m sorry.” He set his hand on her notebook just as she was reaching for it and that fed up look was on him again.

“Look, I don’t know why you wanted to be my partner and I don’t care. You’re right. You can do the project by yourself.” Even though he wasn’t holding the notebook hostage, she made a point to yank it out from under his hand. A moment later, she stood up and the school bell followed her out the door as if on cue.

He scrambled to grab his stuff and rushed out after her. She had a naturally fast walking pace, but she was definitely going faster than usual. “Chloé, wait!” She had already managed to make it to the school’s front door when he caught up to her. “Chloé!”

“Leave me alone, Kurtzberg,” she spat, still not slowing down.

“Wait!” He caught her wrist and the tips of his fingers met the exact mark that had started this all.

She spun to face him. “What!?”

He didn’t let go. He didn’t move. He was paralyzed under that icy gaze and he didn’t think this far and he didn’t know what to say but he needed to say something and, “The first time I ever spoke to you was when I defended Marinette’s floral design against you,” he blurted.

The worst possible combination of confusion and irritation. “So??”

“So…” His heart slammed against the inside walls of his chest and he knew he couldn’t turn back now. “That exact design is tattooed on the back of my left shoulder.”

At first, there was no change in her expression. It was as if her entire being had come to a screeching halt and the only thing her body knew to do was keep breathing. Then the wrinkles in her forehead softened the slightest bit as understanding took confusion’s place. Irritation, however, remained steady.

“Okay, and?”

He blinked. “And? Chloé, we’re—,”

“Soulmates?” she cut him off. “Yeah, I know. Newsflash, Kurtzberg,” she slipped from his grasp and held up her hand, putting his signature on display, “Your art gets spread around the school like wildfire. I’ve known for years.”

_Years._

“Why didn’t you—?”

“Tell you? Are you serious? How was I supposed to tell you when you hated me from the start? When I had to watch you date someone else for two years, call _someone else_ your soulmate for _two fucking years?_ How was I supposed to tell you!?”

That cold fury didn’t budge, but now that hint of hurt he had seen earlier was as present as the guilt weighing heavy in his chest. Seeing her then, an avalanche of understanding came crashing down over his head. He doubted the pain he could clearly see now was even half of what she’d been holding inside. He didn’t know. He had no idea. This whole time, his soulmate was in pain because of him and he _didn’t know._

“I… I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say but God that didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Me too.”

With that, she turned to leave, and again, Nathaniel caught her wrist. Heaving a tired sigh of frustration, she faced him once again. “What do you want, Nathaniel?”

He didn’t know, if he was being honest.

In this moment, he wasn’t in love with her. He wasn’t desperately hoping to kiss her, nor did her clear displeasure with his presence make his heart break. His pulse didn’t spike from a look alone and his name on her tongue sounded no different from any other. She was beautiful—he would have to be blind not to see that—but he didn’t find himself sneaking peaks at her during class nor filling his sketchbook with her visage. When he woke in the morning, his first thought wasn’t of her and he didn’t see her face behind closed eyes when he lay down at night.

He didn’t know her favorite color or her favorite song. He couldn’t tell you what her pet peeves were or what tiny joys she found in life. He had no idea if she preferred the books or the movies, the comics or the show. He couldn’t possibly guess what seemingly harmless topic would spark a 10 minute rant, or what activities she secretly loved that she never wanted anyone to know. Did she like pineapple on pizza? Sprinkles on ice cream? Could she walk somewhere without listening to music? Did she take a water bottle with her everywhere? Chapstick? Lip gloss? Did she prefer writing with pen or pencil? Blue or black ink? Coffee or tea? Hot or iced?

He didn’t know. Chloé Bourgeois was, for all intents and purposes, a total and complete stranger. He didn’t even know if she was human.

“I want to know you,” he finally said.

“Why?”

She was listening. Giving him a chance. The anger was fading from her tone and though she sounded tired, for the first time since he saw her tattoo, he felt he might actually have a chance. An opportunity.

His grip on her wrist tightened the slightest bit, as if afraid that if he let go, she would leave and that opportunity would be lost forever. “Because I don’t know about you, but I know that it would be the biggest regret of my life if I never even tried to get to know my soulmate.”

The slight brightening of her eyes. The tiny intake of breath. It was subtle, almost nonexistent, but he didn’t miss it. The reaction to him calling her his soulmate.

“But you hate me,” she argued. He could hear her desire to fight subsiding with every word. “Don’t try to tell me that you don’t, because we both know that isn’t true.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I do.” His first impression of her had been awful and what he’d learned from Marinette after that had only made it worse. She was a bully, she was selfish, and with her father being the mayor and the richest man in Paris, she was also untouchable. He had never thought to look any deeper than that, because that was all the reason he’d needed to dislike her. But if she was his soulmate…

He shrugged, giving her the smallest of smiles. “And I’m clearly wrong.”

Chloé didn’t say anything. She stood there, looking back and forth between his eyes with an expression that he could only describe as exhausted and unsure. Eventually, her gaze dropped to where he still held her wrist.

With one last reluctant squeeze, he released her. She cradled the wrist in her other hand and swiped a thumb over the tattoo, staring at it as she thought.

“You’re right,” she finally said, voice low. When she looked up again, her usual air of confidence had returned. “You are wrong.” He couldn’t glean from her expression whether that was good or bad. He swallowed thickly, waiting on her every word. She let out a long breath, and with it, an immense weight seemed to ease off her shoulders. “And I probably am too.”

So…Did that mean…?

She fished her cell phone out of her purse and unlocked it. “Give me your number,” she said as she handed it over.

A flurry of pins and needles washed through him then as sincere blue eyes met his. It was the first time she had ever looked at him like that—ever looked at him with anything but antagonism. It wasn’t a happy look, but it was new. And it wasn’t…cold. Her eyes shined like the first day of spring and he could feel their warmth slowly spreading through him. It was a feat just to look away.

He tried not to let his fingers shake as he typed his information into her phone and handed it back.

“I’ll text you about the art project,” she said, and with one last look over her shoulder, walked away.


	6. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want you for a lifetime. So if you're gonna think twice, I don't wanna know. - Utada Hikaru, Don't Think Twice.

On day one of the art project, Nathaniel learned that Chloé’s favorite color was gold and that she didn’t have a favorite song. She wrote with pen because she, quote, ‘never makes mistakes,’ and her pens were a range of fiery colors—reds, oranges, yellows. Black ink only when absolutely necessary. She would only eat fruit flavors of ice cream and sprinkles were only permitted on strawberry, because, ‘they only look right on pink.’ On hot summer days, she drank mango iced tea, but the rest of the time, she liked hot coffee for waking up in the morning and hot tea for relaxing at night. And if her hot drinks didn’t have steam rising from them, they weren’t hot enough.

He also learned to never ever suggest that pineapple is a valid pizza topping.

On day two, he learned that nothing drove Chloé insane more than someone repeatedly clicking their pen. Pencil tapping was also maddening. He unfortunately learned this the hard way.

But that day, he also learned that she loved the sound of rain on the roof of a quiet room and the scent of asphalt as the first drops begin to fall. Nothing ever scared or excited her quite as much as the first strike of lightning in a storm and by observation alone, he realized that she had a very particular hum she emitted in reaction to the resonance of thunder in her chest.

On day two, she had told him that she rarely wore headphones while walking around, but on day three, she admitted that she wears them every time she goes out in public on her own. Because by the age of 15, she had realized that she would never learn not to listen when she overheard people talking about her.

Day three was also the first time he ever witnessed her 100% complete genuine laugh. He had never thought her so beautiful.

On day four, he realized there was something they would always fight about.

“But Brotherhood sticks to the story of the original manga!”

“That doesn’t mean it’s automatically better! It just means it’s different!”

“Yeah!” Chloé tossed her arms up in the air. “Different _better!_ The original was a clusterfuck with filler that didn’t know what it was doing! Brotherhood was way more organized and well-paced and complete!”

“The original wasn’t bad though!” He argued. “It’s like its own thing separate from Brotherhood! I’m not saying it’s better, I’m just saying it has its own individual value!”

She crossed her arms. “I think you’re just blinded by the nostalgia factor.”

“And I think you’re blinded by newer, shinier animation.”

They never really reached a conclusion there. They went back and forth for a while until eventually they got distracted talking about the story itself. It was somewhere in the middle of Chloé’s rant on why she liked Mustang and Hawkeye more as a platonic ship that it actually occurred to him: his soulmate was a closeted weeb. Watching her go on, eyes spirited and a baseline smile fixed to her lips as she spoke, he was beginning to see why they were soulmates. And when he heard her laugh again, he realized that that sound was quickly becoming his new favorite song.

Day five was the first time he ever found the lines of his pencil coming to resemble her face as he mindlessly sketched in class.

They didn’t really need to meet that day. Their project was done. There were some spots that they could still throw in some extra detailing if they really wanted to, but it wasn’t necessary. The project was finished by the time Nathaniel had gone home on day four. And yet, neither of them said anything about it. Nathaniel still came over to her hotel suite after school and she still welcomed him.

So they did that extra detailing. And they asked each other more questions. And he got to listen to his favorite song again and again and again.

It wasn’t until he lay down at the end of the night that he realized he didn’t have an excuse to spend time with her anymore. He supposed they were still soulmates and that was probably an excuse in itself, but would she be okay with that? And if they were to hang out without an academic excuse under the reasoning that they were soulmates, would it be a date? Were they ready for that yet? Was _he_ ready for that yet?

Nathaniel pulled out his phone with the intent to text her even though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

She beat him to it.

**_CB:_ ** _Want to come over on Saturday to watch the FMA movie? I never actually watched it._

A slow smile spread across his lips as he typed his response.

**_NK:_ ** _I can’t believe you had the audacity to pick that fight when you never even saw the movie_

**_CB:_ ** _I stand by my actions._

**_CB:_ ** _So?_

**_NK:_ ** _Definitely._

Spending time with her wasn’t the most natural thing in the world. They were awkward, both of them. But with time came comfort, and with comfort came ease.

Week two was when Chloé started talking to him at school, in sight of other people. Not a ton, of course—it wasn’t like she was eating lunch with him or walking around with him—but when they crossed paths in the halls, there were actual words exchanged. Pleasant ones.

It was somewhere in week four that he began anticipating and even looking forward to those brief interactions. And it was on Monday of week five—after a family trip to the coast had made him go a whole weekend without talking to her—that those interactions started making his stomach flutter.

That next Saturday, as they enjoyed the sunny afternoon out in the park, Nathaniel stumbled across his first opportunity to talk about weres.

“So you two broke up because of a bad kiss?”

The day was warm, with that perfect hint of a breeze that brushed the stray strands of hair about her face just right. The trees above had dappled her skin in an array of shadows, but they left an open window of sunlight just for her eyes. They absolutely glowed as they stared at him like he was an idiot. 

“Well when you say it like that it sounds shallow,” he laughed. “It wasn’t just a bad kiss, it was… _nothing._ The complete absence of any feeling or passion or desire…” He trailed off as he caught himself looking back and forth between her eyes. Was she wondering the same thing he was? “We both knew that a kiss shouldn’t feel that way. Not with our soulmate.”

Chloé seemed to consider that a moment. In that single breath of silence, his eyes did the unspeakable and stole a glance at her lips—her pink, glossy lips. “Do you think all kisses with the wrong person feel that way?” she asked a second later. As he met her eyes again, he hoped beyond hope she hadn’t noticed where his had traveled.

“I-I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his head with a nervous smile. “My only other kiss was Alix and she was dared to do that.” The corners of her lips turned up in an amused smile. Nathaniel cleared his throat and forced himself to look away before his mind could travel further down the track of wondering what flavor her lip gloss was. “What about you? Have you ever kissed anyone?”

She shook her head with a tiny laugh. “Not unless you count kissing my best friend when we were five.”

“You kissed Sabrina? What was that like?”

“No, not Sabrina—,” Chloé cut herself off mid-sentence.

When she didn’t continue, Nathaniel turned to look at her again—and was confronted with a heart breaking sight.

Her eyes almost seemed to dull over and he watched as the tiny smile she had worn all afternoon slowly faded from her lips. “Never mind,” she said, tone suddenly somber. She vacantly watched the children playing across the park, but it was clear that her mind was somewhere else.

He found himself scrutinizing her profile for answers. She looked so melancholy all of a sudden when up until then, they had been having a good day talking and laughing. Where did that come from? And if it wasn’t Sabrina, who did she kiss? Who else did she ever call her best friend? And why did the thought of them make her so—

Oh shit.

_You knew him right? Did you know? Weren’t you friends? What did he look like as a cat?_

The younger voices of his classmates began echoing off the walls of his head as he recalled that day. The only day Chloé came to school and didn’t talk. The only day everyone wanted her to talk.

_Did your dad know? Did he have anything to do with the fire?_

He remembered sitting in the back of the class and watching with shamefully vested interest as the other kids surrounded her desk and berated her with a never ending onslaught of questions. Watching with shamefully vested interest as she said absolutely nothing. As she stood up and left without a word. As she didn’t come back to school for a week.

Her gaze had grown hard, as if her mind was retreating further and further into a dark place.

“Was it Adrien Agreste?” he asked quietly.

Chloé winced at the name, but her expression remained unchanged. He wondered how many times circumstances had forced her to practice that absolutely unyielding look.

“Yeah,” she answered curtly, voice just above a whisper.

This was his chance—albeit a less than ideal one. Throughout all of their interactions, he had always kept the topic in the back of his mind, always kept looking for any signs and signals of what she might think. But if ever he was going to have a chance to talk about it— _really_ talk about it—it was with the topic of Adrien Agreste.

He felt like every nerve in his body was shaking. He tried not to let it show as he welled up the courage to ask her something— _anything_ —about it. Finally, in a strained and quiet voice, he pushed out the words, “Did you—?”

“Nathaniel.” If the sharpness of her tone didn’t cut him off, those hard, almost _pleading_ eyes as she turned to look at him surely would have. She softened the harshness in her voice but spoke her next statement slowly, stressing the importance of her words. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

He watched those eyes, studied them, trying with every bit of detail oriented observation power he had to discern any meaning behind them. That was the clear look of someone who really didn’t want to reveal their feelings—someone who didn’t want to open up, didn’t want anyone to know. But he needed to know. If nothing else, he needed to know _why_ she didn’t want him to know _._

In the wake of the Agreste fire, Chloé would have thought just like everyone else that there were no survivors. That Gabriel, Emilie, and Adrien Agreste all were dead.

Before they were outed as weres, the Agreste’s were known family friends of the Bourgeois’s. Audrey Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste old friends and icons in the fashion industry and their children, born the same year, raised as friends from birth. Adrien Agreste—Paris’s collective crush—was famously known to have exactly one friend, and that was Chloé. Chloé Bourgeois—Paris’s heiress. Pictures of them could still be found floating around social media, ranging from when they had just begun to walk, leading all the way up to the very same month of the fire. The very same month the Agreste name was cursed in the angry chanting of mobs and the Agreste mansion went up in flames.

A hint of betrayal could be discerned in her eyes, that much he gleaned. But was it betrayal because her best friend turned out to be the enemy? Or was it betrayal because her best friend didn’t trust her with the truth?

Had she known the truth? Was she aware that whole time growing up that her best friend had the blood of a cat? Did he tell her? Did she find out?

Did she out him?

He needed to know if that was the hurt of shame, anger, and betrayal begging him to drop the subject in that moment, or if that was the hurt of mourning. If he were to tell her that Adrien was alive—that he escaped and had been safe all these years in hiding—would she cry tears of relief or would she speak words of fury? If she were to see him—to confront him in the flesh—would she wrap him in the embrace of an old friend? Or in the embrace of death? Would she speak a word of it to anyone? To her father? To the akumas? To a hunter? Or would she keep the secret held tightly in her grasp, safe and sound, where no one could ever harm him again?

He didn’t know. He _needed_ to know. But looking in those eyes right then, right there, the only thing he knew was that she wasn’t ready to tell him. Not yet.

“Will you?” he asked. “Someday?”

She watched him, and in her then, he could see his own analytical gaze mirrored. Assessing. Gauging. Trying to decipher if he could be trusted or not.

Her expression softened with a slow exhale. “I’m sure I will,” she whispered, and the way she said it almost sounded like a resignation to herself. An admittance. “Someday.”

Someday wouldn’t come for a long while, but hints started to trickle in after that. He couldn’t be sure if it was because she was trusting him more or because she was filtering around him less, but either way he found himself feeling safer and safer around her with each passing week. It was the occasional grunt of disgust when akuma propaganda popped up on her facebook feed or the subtle eye roll when a rally could be overheard nearby. None of the hints were concrete; all of them could be attributed to baseline annoyance or contextual displeasure. But they were there. They were there and each and every one was adding to his growing hope.

It was a warm night in month three, leaning over the bridge railing to watch boats float along the River Seine, when she confessed the words in a hushed whisper.

“I miss him.”

The lapping of the water down below. The music of a street performer down the street. The giggles of children running along the bridge. Those were the sounds that faded away as Nathaniel’s entire world seemed to zoom into focus on her and her alone.

Chloé kept her gaze on the reflection of city lights rippling along the surface of the river. Her eyes weren’t as hardened as he might have expected them to be. Not as guarded.

“I couldn’t save him,” she continued, voice low, her words for him and him alone. “When news broke out about the fire, I ran straight to his house. By the time I got there, the entire building was in flames, the exits blocked. Sabrina’s father caught me trying to claw my way through the police barricade. He held me back, hid me from view. He thought he was doing me a favor. Wouldn’t want word getting out that the mayor’s daughter fought for the life of a were.” She paused, narrowing her eyes in such a way that he knew she was staring at the police chief’s face in her mind. “Such bullshit,” she muttered under her breath.

He waited until he was sure she was done speaking. Softly, gently, he asked, “Did you know?”

Just when he thought those eyes couldn’t get sadder. “No. He never told me.” She let out a long sigh, dropping her head below her shoulders. “I can’t blame him. Even if he trusted me, there’s no telling what could have happened. Look at what happened without him speaking a word. I just wish…”

She never finished that thought.

With a deep breath, Chloé picked her head back up, stood up straight, and turned to fully face him. She leveled him a look built on courage and riddled with fear.

“So that’s who your soulmate is, Nathaniel,” she said. Her voice was still quiet, but strong, and suddenly he realized why she chose to bring it up. “Someone who nearly put their life on the line for a were and would do it again in a heartbeat. We’ve danced around the subject long enough. I need to know if the same is true for you.”

Steadfast blue eyes reflecting every light in a dark city. Determination and fear inextricably wrapped up in one another—wrapped up in a dance of hesitation and necessity. A lonely soul held in the arms of a confrontational spirit.

Nathaniel had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“Well?” she asked, her eyes darting about his face in every effort to find her answer.

The next breath he took was one of the easiest in his life. Somehow, he had never felt so safe outside of his own home. He didn’t have the voice to respond—nor did he know what words to use if he did—so the best he could give her was a soft smile and a silent nod. She thankfully accepted that.

On June 26th, Nathaniel learned that Chloé wore strawberry lip gloss.

It was the last day of classes and instead of the summer sun that everyone anticipated, they got rain.

Their intermittent laughter and the splashing of their footsteps as they ran through puddles was the music that followed them down the street on their way to the cafe. He could feel water droplets on the back of his neck and dampness soaking through his shoes, but with Chloé’s hand in his and his favorite song on repeat, those things couldn’t be further from his mind.

“You’re getting a bill from my hairdresser,” she laughed as they took refuge under a nearby awning. For the first time in his life, he watched as Chloé pulled the hair tie out of her hair, letting the long, tangled strands fall loose about her head. It was damp and frizzy, and her efforts to comb her fingers through it were hopeless from the start.

As he spoke, he found his hand reaching out, fingers taking delicate hold of a strand that was blocking his view of those beautiful eyes. “I don’t know; I think you look pretty great like this.”

“Oh really?” she scoffed, flat and sarcastic. She gave him a look to match, gaze rising to meet his—a glowing summer sky amidst spring rain.

An easy smile spread across his lips as he tucked the hair away behind her ear. He didn’t drop his hand, fingers threading delicately through tangled strands. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Really.”

The very air around them stilled and the world faded away and suddenly it was just them—two soulmates a breath apart tucked away from the rain. He didn’t try to stop the urge to glance at her lips this time, nor did she. The pull to Chloé was more familiar than the pull of gravity, more natural than the ocean’s currents. Her forehead was warm against his and her breath was cool on his cheek. The moment their lips touched was the thunder after the lightning, the day after the night—the undeniable fate of nature taking its course. Her kiss was more than inevitable, it was _right._ Like breathing itself, the touch of her lips against his was easy, simple—and something he couldn’t imagine living without.

And it was just one kiss. Their lips parted like the tide’s retreat back into the ocean, leaving the faint taste of strawberry lingering on his lips, but neither of them moved. Her breath still tickled his cheek. His forehead still rested against hers.

“So that’s how that’s supposed to feel,” he whispered.

He opened his eyes just enough to see the delicate curl of perfect lips. Chloé reached up and took hold of the edges of his jacket. His palms likewise found the perfect curvature of her cheeks, fingers threading through the hair at the base of her neck. And they came together again.

By the next week, Nathaniel had learned that Chloé rotated lip gloss flavors. Strawberry that first day in the rain, cherry behind the theater that weekend, lemon in her room two days after that. And forever after that next Thursday, Nathaniel would always remember the distinct taste of raspberry as the flavor of the truth.

His arm was numb, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when it was tucked so perfectly under the crook of Chloé’s neck.

The queen had deigned to grant this lowly peasant the sight of her with her hair down once again and though he suspected she may make him pay for it later, he was taking full advantage of it. His fingers tangled through the soft golden strands at the base of her neck, no doubt making a storm of knots that he would hear about later. For now, however, she didn’t seem to mind. Not with her hand on his waist, thumb dancing along the skin just under the hem of his shirt as she pulled him close.

Their lips moved in perfect tandem, a rhythm born in instinct and refined in practice, and his body molded to hers with such an ease he hadn’t thought possible between two people. Kissing Chloé was so much more than he ever could have predicted it would be. Time was lost when they came together, all semblance of thought gone and reality limited to her skin under his fingers and her tongue against his. The kiss of a soulmate. The taste of raspberry.

“Ey dude, you in here?”

A sharp intake of breath and the kiss was broken as the lights in the room flicked on. Both he and Chloé immediately sat up on the couch, totally inconspicuous. Pins and needles prickled his fingertips as feeling slowly returned.

An amused grin spread across Nino’s cheeks. “Watcha doin in the dark, kids?”

Nathaniel cleared his throat as he clenched and unclenched his hand to get blood circulating. “Watching a movie.” It wasn’t _technically_ a lie; that _was_ what they were doing before Chloé had—

“Oh yeah,” Nino said sarcastically, looking past him, “that menu screen looks absolutely enthralling.”

Chloé snorted behind him. He turned to look and sure enough, Spirited Away sat on the main menu.

He leaned in toward Chloé and lowered his voice—not that it made Nino any less likely to hear him, what with him coming close and leaning on his elbows on the back of the couch. “When did it end?”

She hummed in thought, fingers beginning their endeavor to undo the knots he’d made. “Somewhere around the time you started messing up my hair.” She closed the statement with a tiny glare and he just grinned. He rather liked the way she looked with less-than-pristine hair.

“Dude you owe me one for intercepting Aunt Abigail on her way in here.”

He turned his attention back to his cousin. “Mom would have been fine.” Nino raised an eyebrow at him. “...I think. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Family trip to the coast tomorrow,” he reported, drumming his hands on the couch. “Leaving early in the morning, so Chloé has to go home in a couple hours.”

“Your family takes a lot of trips to the coast.”

Ice water down his back. Nathaniel felt the color drain from his face as he shared an apprehensive look with Nino. He was glad Chloé was behind him at that moment and couldn’t see him panicking.

“Yeah,” Nino replied, giving him a _look._ “We do.”

“Why?”

He raised his brows at him and Nathaniel could practically hear the _‘Dude, you gotta tell her,’_ echo in his mind. Nino knew that Nathaniel had already gotten clearance from the rest of the family _and_ that Chloé had told him in explicit terms that she supported weres. He’d been pestering him for weeks to tell her and the only reason Nathaniel had been able to give him as to why he hadn’t yet was just _‘I haven’t had a good opportunity.’_

It was bullshit and they both knew it. The reason was just that he was scared.

Retrospectively loving a friend thought dead who she hadn’t known to be a were prior to his alleged death was very different from being in a current relationship with a were who was very much alive. He’d be lying if he tried to claim that there wasn’t still a part of him—albeit increasingly small—that worried she would reject him upon learning that he had scales when completely submerged. That worried she would be disgusted by him.

“Dunno,” Nino finally said. His voice kept casual so as not to alert Chloé, but the look he was giving him was anything but. As he stood up straight to leave, the message rang loud and clear. **_Tell her._**

Nathaniel swallowed nervously as the door shut, leaving him and Chloé alone once again. “I mean the coast is nice and all,” she continued, “but you go like, two or three times a month. I don’t even know the last time I went.” He turned to face her once again and found her with approximately half of her hair somewhat tamed while the rest was still frizzy. “Do you think I could come actually? It’s been way too long.”

Blue eyes found him as she continued combing her fingers through the mess, absolutely oblivious to the anxiety welling within him. Clear summer skies parting a raging storm.

Nathaniel interrupted her progress by threading his fingers through her hair once more and pulling her into a kiss. A single slow, perfect, calming, centering, breathtaking, mind clearing, soul completing kiss. A soulmate’s kiss.

Nino was right. If she really was his soulmate—which was beyond a shadow of a doubt with a kiss like that—then he should be safe with her. Whether he had kissed her to strengthen his resolve or to savor what could be his last though, he couldn’t say.

“Nathaniel?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”


	7. AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss me once. Kiss me twice. Kiss me three times. Be mine. - Utada Hikaru, Don't Think Twice.

Chloé watched as water washed over her feet, briefly clearing sand away from her white nail polish only to rush back out and sink her down to her ankles in mud. The ocean mist was cool and refreshing on her skin with the summer sun blazing overhead. It really had been far too long since she’d visited the coast.

She’d known she was going to visit it again this summer; she just hadn’t predicted the exact circumstances that would take her there. Before this, she had been entertaining thoughts of planning a trip to Spain to spend a week or two on the beaches there. She had been entertaining thoughts of bringing Nathaniel with her. Now, though, she was reconsidering that plan.

“So if there are entire cities of merfolk underwater,” she said as the water rushed over her feet once more, “and your family has to go back to the water all the time anyway,” she twisted to look at him over her shoulder, “why do you live on land at all?”

Nathaniel stood barefoot in the dry sand behind her, having just finished taking off his shoes (because he wore his Vans instead of sandals, like an idiot). His hair shined a brighter red than usual under light like this—closer to that ginger orange color than the darker tones he had under clouds. She might have been imagining it, but she was pretty sure a scattering of freckles was starting to pop up on the bridge of his nose. And his eyes—that deep teal that had reminded her of ocean waters long before she had even learned the truth—were bright and clear as they rose from his phone to meet her.

He smiled in that way that always preceded something snarky. “Have you ever tried to use a pencil and paper underwater?” She gave him a _look_. “I’m not kidding!” he laughed. “From drawing to writing to music, just about everyone in my family is an artist in some regard.” He looked down at his phone to keep typing as he continued. “There are underwater arts for sure, but why limit ourselves when we don’t have to?”

She supposed that made sense. Even before they started talking, Chloé had known by observation alone that Nathaniel couldn’t go anywhere without his sketch book. She had never seen him so distressed as those rare days when he forgot it at home—not even his stress over telling her the truth could compare. And everyone and their mother knew Nino always had a pair of headphones on him; she hadn’t even _seen_ him without music. Their house was full of arts and crafts varying from pottery to papier mâché, there was always music of some sort playing from somewhere in the house, and Chloé couldn’t even picture Nathaniel’s mother without a pen tucked behind her ear; it seemed just as attached as her red hair.

“Do you have any family that don’t live on land?”

He shrugged, still typing. “Probably some distant family, but no one we keep in contact with.”

“Who are you texting?”

He looked up again and smiled upon seeing her confused expression. “Just Marinette.”

“Why?” Was it wrong of her to feel a slight pang of jealousy? Would the topic of Marinette ever stop being a sore spot for her?

Two more seconds to finish typing, then he closed his phone and tossed it off to the side with the rest of their stuff. “There’s a friend of hers that I want you to meet.”

“What? Why? Who is it?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She gave him another _look._ He just smiled in that way that was absolutely unfair. “You’ll see.”

“But—,”

“You’re welcome to keep watching,” he interrupted, voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head, “but I _am_ going to fully undress.” He turned around and knelt down by his backpack, stuffing the shirt inside. Long strands of tangled red hair lay across his back that fell down by his face as he leaned forward, baring his shoulder.

Baring the flowers.

They were perfect, down to every little detail. The shape, the design, even the tiny little errors she had nitpicked long ago. All those years, she couldn’t understand how he could think _she_ was his soulmate; not when her own tattoo was so clear. But looking at the flowers in that moment, she couldn’t conceive of anyone not reaching that conclusion.

It was so very specifically Marinette’s design on his shoulder.

“Chloé?”

She looked up again, realizing that while she had been scrutinizing the tattoo, he had stood up, half turned to her, and maybe even said something. Now with his hands paused at the button of his jeans, he was looking at her with that snarky smile again.

“This is your last chance if you want to turn around.”

“...Right,” she eventually said. Her feet still stuck in the mud, she simply faced forward so she was staring out at the horizon again. “Sorry.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she lied.

“Let me rephrase.” His voice was getting closer. With a gentle hand on her back, he came around to her side to look at her face. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, intent on watching a piece of seaweed float along the surface of the water out past the break. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“I don’t care.”

She rolled her head back with a pout. “No, Nathaniel, that’s where you’re supposed to say, _‘don’t be silly, Chloé, whatever’s bothering you can’t be stupid.’”_

“I’m not going to lie to you.” She backhanded his stomach and he laughed, catching her hand to hold it in both of his. “Come on,” he said gently. He lifted her hand and she finally looked to watch as he pressed a soft kiss to her wrist—to her tattoo. There may be nothing technically different about it as compared to his lips anywhere else on her skin, but that specific kiss had her weak. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She stared at him—stared at the tender, welcoming, reassuring way that he looked at her. That way that made her feel safe speaking her feelings for once in her life.

She sighed. “I don’t like that it’s Marinette’s design on your shoulder,” she finally admitted, her eyes focused on the tattoo she couldn’t see, but knew all too well would always be there on the other side of his back.

Seeing those flowers was seeing two whole years of watching her soulmate happy with someone else. Two long years of convincing herself to give up on ever being with her soulmate because she had managed to lose him before he was even hers. Two bleak years of knowing that she was one of those people who didn’t end up with their soulmate, and wondering if she would be lucky enough to ever find love with someone else. Two years, culminated in three pink flowers and a vine of twelve leaves etched into her soulmate’s skin.

Nathaniel moved to stand directly in front of her, warm palms cupping the sides of her face to make sure she looked at him as he spoke the words she may never stop needing to hear. “I’m _your_ soulmate.”

She rolled her eyes as if hearing him say it didn’t mean everything to her. “I know; that’s why I said it was stupid.”

Even if it had only been a few months, he already apparently knew not to trust her nonchalance. His thumbs stroked gently across her cheeks. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.”

She leaned her cheek into the warmth of his hold. “I know.” Her hands came to settle on his hips and she leveled her gaze with his, meeting those genuine apologetic, remorseful eyes. “Promise you’ll spend the rest of your life making it up to me.”

A soft smile on soft lips. His fingers weaved up into her hair, thumbs settling on the edges of her jaw as he moved in. “I promise.”

By now she had lost count of how many times they had kissed. That didn’t mean that she was used to it. Nathaniel liked to cradle her head when he kissed her—whether that was her cheek nestled safely in the warmth of his palm or her head held with care in the strength of his fingers. He poured his everything into every kiss, always kissing her with the utmost passion and feeling and warmth. Like she was his whole world when they kissed; like nothing else existed but the two of them in those brief moments that their lips touch.

She was never kissed in such a way that she didn’t feel absolutely cherished with him. Secure.

“I’m yours, Chloé Bourgeois,” he whispered, putting the perfect words to a kiss like that. She wondered if she would ever get to a point where hearing him affirm that didn’t strike her to her core.

“You’re so overdramatic,” she whispered back. “Using my full name, kissing me like it’s the end of the world.”

Her eyes weren’t open, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe I’m still afraid it’ll be the last.”

“Keep doubting me like that and it will be.”

He chuckled and the sound was warmer than the sun above. “Or maybe I’m just still savoring the fact that a kiss can feel like that.”

“Whatever the reason,” she opened her eyes and found his right there waiting for her, “never stop.”

Would she ever get used to that bright, beautiful, beaming smile?

Another kiss—just one more slow, perfect, calming, centering, breathtaking, mind clearing, soul completing kiss. Nathaniel’s kiss.

As if to remind them where they were and why they were there, a particularly large wave washed up on shore, pushing water further up on her legs than before and no doubt soaking the cuffs of Nathaniel’s jeans. “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, a nervous and excited flutter in her chest.

“Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End <3


End file.
